


To Dust, to Gold

by Lumieres



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/F, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Unresolved Tension, this is also sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9211721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumieres/pseuds/Lumieres
Summary: “This is him, isn’t it? The man who broke your heart.”Yuri nods glumly. And here he is, breaking it all over again.(Or: The story of how Otabek steals the heavens for Yuri, only to not remember the time they spent together.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> irus said to write a deity au, so there's fantasy elements here and there, a little inspired by the raven cycle and the cemetery of forgotten books, and a tiny bit inspired by Perun (god of thunder and lightning) and Diviya (goddess of the moon) from slavic mythology.

**@yuri-plisetsky:** fuck, i'm awake again • 3min 

Yuri stares at the note in his shaky hands.

In Otabek’s neat calligraphy, the note says, “ _I’m sorry, give me time, and I will find you again.”_

He lets out a string of curses. He scrunches his fist, he kicks at the chair. He tries everything to just stop himself from _thinking_.

(Why the fuck won’t he just _stop_ thinking all together?)

It’s been two years.

And the wound still bleeds.

Yuri punches the ground until his knuckles are raw. He wants to scream. It’s worse today. It’s worse because it’s now _exactly_ two years since he had left him. Left him without an explanation. Left him so suddenly.

And despite it being two years, Yuri still thinks about _him._

After all, Yuri Plisetsky had been so inexplicably and irrevocably in _love_ with Otabek Altin.

He was his first true love. First crush. Everything was a _first_ for him.

All the other attempts in love between had lasted a couple of months or two. It’s hard to find something stable, it’s hard to find the same relationship he’s now starved of. Otabek was like a buoy in stormy waters and a lighthouse amongst Yuri’s sea of thoughts.

Finally, he crumples the piece of paper and throws it at the bin in the corner. He folds into himself, knees hitting the floor. He chews on the corner of his lip, he scratches at his hands.

 _I will find you again_.

His fingers linger on the last words of the note; a comma and an unfinished sentence, “ _I promise,”._

(Some _bullshit_ of a promise.)

How much longer should he wait? Mila’s told him that he should move on.

Which he has.

Fucking hell he _has_ tried _so_ hard to move on. He’s taken more jobs, made more videos for his fashion channel, and accepted more brand deals. _Yuri Plisetsky_ is now a household fashion icon in Russia. People adore him, people like his style — a little punk with a tinge of leopard print.

But he can’t help but think that it isn’t enough. He raises a hand pistol to his head and makes an explosive sound.

“Fuck you,” Yuri whispers. He hates this date. He hates it so much. He just wishes it didn’t exist all together. He scrunches the note up in his hands and aims it at the bin in the corner.

It takes all his mental effort to not run after it, not to pull it from the bin. He’ll burn the entire house down to just stop thinking about a man that’s never going to come back.

If that’s what it takes, so be it.

Today is the day that Yuri Plisetsky stops thinking about Otabek Altin. Because that dumb fuck is _never_ coming back.

 

* * *

 

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** this satire is underwhelming even my cat can write better • 3 years ago 

A coffee cup is placed in front of him. Yuri, startled, lets out a, “Fucking hell, don’t disturb me like that!” and a loud hiss.

He pushes aside his computer and angles his head at the cup. Music bleeds into the almost empty café as he yanks his headphones from his ears.

“I think there’s been a mistake?” he says, trying to hide his glower and trying his _goddamn_ best to calm down.

On the verge of exploding, he thumbs his dog-eared and well highlighted copy of _Dead Souls_ , and deliberately puts his book down. He looks at the man straight in the eyes. He’s ready to kill someone with this gaze.

Letting out a long, tight breath from his mouth, he says with as much intimidation he can muster, “I didn’t order this.”

He looks the man up and down, eyes catching on his stupid undercut with a fade at the nape of his neck and his hair perfectly slicked to the side. If Yuri had been in any other mood, he would have checked out the man for longer — after all, he’s a connoisseur of good looking men.

“It’s on the house,” the man says, almost a little too nonchalantly, almost a little _too_ modestly. He pushes his round tortoiseshell glasses further up his face, his Adam’s apple bobbing down as he swallows. Yuri could have sworn that his cheeks are growing a shade of red.

“Why?” Yuri glares at him with increasing suspicion.

He hesitates, mouth opening, before he turns to the woman by the coffee machine. Yuri narrows his eyes as  she gives the man a reassuring nod and two thumbs up. He’s about to send her a thumb down, but he’s curious how this conversation is going to pan out, so he waits.  

(With minimal patience)

“You look like you’ve been dumped,” he finally says.

Yuri blinks.

Is the man _fucking_ serious?

“What?” Yuri narrows his eyes, a scowl rising to his face.

He repeats exactly what he said before.

“I — dumped — what?” Yuri splutters. His hand hovers dangerously by the coffee cup.

If he says one more _wrong_ thing, he’s going to fling it at the man with the nice glasses. He doesn’t even care if it will going to ruin that stupidly _good_ looking shirt on that stupidly _well_ sculpted torso.

He says as evenly as possible, “What the _fuck_ gives you any right to care about my feelings?”

The man holds out his hands in peace. “Do you want the coffee?” There’s a sarcastic response that’s waiting to be said, but he doesn’t say it.

He’s either a gentleman or he’s already tired of the interaction.

(It’s probably a bit of both)

“Here,” Yuri hisses, pulling out his wallet from his pocket. He waves a note and slaps it into the man’s outstretched palms.

“Uh —“ the man says, taking it awkwardly.

“That’s for you to shut up,” Yuri says with equal amount of venom of a cobra.  

The man tosses another glance over his shoulder to look at the woman.

She bites her lip and pulls a finger across her neck, giving the man a hard look. Yuri hopes it means, _abort the fucking mission_.

“Before you leave,” Yuri says. He grabs the man’s arm, holding it for a little longer before he says something. “What’s your name?”

The man shrugs, mockingly. His cheeks are no longer red and he’s no longer bashful. He looks like he has grown a couple of inches and he folds his arms, to a point where Yuri _hates_ himself for noticing the way his shirt tightened as his biceps tensed.

“Talk, you dumb fuck,” Yuri hisses. 

“You just paid me to shut up,” the man replies, a snide tone curling his voice.

Yuri opens his mouth like a goldfish.

“But it’s Otabek. Otabek Altin.”

“Well,” Yuri says, leaning forward in his chair.  “Otabek Altin. Don’t play fucking clever with me. I’ll take the coffee but don’t do this again.”

He let’s go his arm and pulls back his laptop, ready to start work again.

“I was just trying to be nice,” Otabek replies, perfectly calm. His eyes exude the confidence that Yuri hopes _he_ mimics. “Apparently you don’t appreciate people looking out for you.”

Yuri hates it when people are passive aggressive. He eyes the cutlery in the box next to him, mind wondering how long it will take for the fork to hit the his hand, wondering if he’ll get sent to prison.

“Not strangers,” Yuri says his back straightening with poise. “And especially not _good looking_ strangers who are obviously trying to _flirt_ with me.”

In the background, the woman mouths, _yikes!_

“Consider it a gesture of good will next time,” Otabek says, moving away. “ _Kid.”_

“It’s Yuri, _Yuri Plisetsky_ ,” Yuri shouts back at him. “And I’m _not_ a child!”

Otabek slows.

“I’m _twenty!”_ Yuri exclaims.  

“A twenty-year-old shouldn’t be throwing tantrums,” Otabek says with one final cool glance over his shoulder.

Yuri glares at the older couple in the corner and downs the coffee — which is fucking _good_ but he doesn’t want to admit that — and leaves the café.  

 

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** who makes anything other than toast for breakfast? @milabb • 10 min 

 

As Yuri heads into the kitchen, he tries his best to avoid the attention of Mila and Sara.

The townhouse Yuri and Mila share is spacious, with most of the living area on the bottom floor and the bedrooms upstairs. It belongs to the two of them, but Yuri can barely remember the day when Sara isn’t around.

(He hopes that she’s paying some of the rent)

“Morning, Yurochka,” Mila says, a little too cheerily for the morning.

She’s everything Yuri isn’t. She’s a morning person, she goes out for runs the moment she wakes up and she loves to cook. If they didn’t live together, Yuri knows that he’ll have opted for takeout one too many times.

“Morning, baba,” Yuri replies behind a yawn. He crosses the threshold into the kitchen and begins preparing himself a coffee.

Mila arches an eyebrow. “No snide comment today?”

“What do you want me to say?” Yuri says. He pinches the bridge of his nose. As he contemplates his next sentence, he just mutters, “Old hag.”

“Oats for breakfast?” she suggests, nudging him with her shoulder.

“I’m not hungry,” is Yuri’s half-hearted reply. He walks to the fridge and just stops. It’s as if his entire body has forgotten how to move, it’s as if he’s completely stopped functioning. Squinting, he wills his hand to just open the door.

Sara places a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

She’s dipped her head at his red knuckles. Yuri hides them by angling his body away, but they’ve both seen it now. They exchange looks at one another, unspoken worry hanging between them.

“What’s the date today, baby?” Mila asks. It’s the nickname she gives her that makes him wince.

(They’re disgusting)

Sara pulls out her phone. “The thirty first.”

“Oh.”

“Wait, what does it mean?” Sara asks, trying to discern the secret glances between Yuri and Mila.

Mila ignores her. She claps her hands together, a smile spreading across her face. “We should find you a new man.”

Yuri almost chokes on the coffee he’s consumed. “ _Fuck_ no!”

“Why _not?”_ Mila whines.

Yuri coughs and sets the coffee on the table and shakes his head. “No, no, _no.”_ He raises his finger. “The last time you set me off on a blind date I punched the guy.”

Even though Mila is well-intentioned and a person — who, Yuri loathed to admit, he doesn’t deserve — he _despised_ her idea of dates. And _especially,_ her taste in men. The last guy she chose for him was a professional ice-hockey player, broad shouldered and knew _nothing_ about fashion. The tie he wore was all wrong, too thin for a body and he had padded shoulders.

The date lasted at least an hour before Yuri almost smashed his nose.

“Well,” Mila starts but then she stops, hiding her laughter behind her hand. Suddenly laughter erupts from Mila. “You don’t know how long I had to spend apologising to him.”

 “I know a guy,” Sara perks up, with a raised finger. “A friend of mine.”

“What —“ Yuri tries to stop them from setting him up. But when the two of them work together, it’s near impossible for him to say no.

“You’re twenty five and you haven’t got a partner,” Mila says. “You can’t rely on that youthful good looks for much longer.”

“I swear to god, Mila,” Yuri mutters. He shouldn’t have even come down from his room if they’re going to be like this. “I’m _not_ looking for anyone.”

“Just give him a chance,” Sara says. The two of them are now flanking him. And he’s feeling claustrophobic. He’s about to shove them away from him, but he knows that _at_ twenty-five, he shouldn’t be doing these things anymore.

He needs to stop relying on his temper tantrums.

He needs to be a proper adult.  

“Okay,” Yuri concedes. He’s only doing this so that they’ll shut up.

(He hopes they’ll shut up.)

Both Mila and Sara blink owlishly at him and say, “What?”

He sighs, straightening his shirt that they just fucked up. “I’ll do it.”

They blink again in unison.  

“Are you sure?” Mila asks.

“Are you now backing out?” Yuri squares his body, a smirk threatening to burst from his lips.

“No, no of course not,” Mila says at the same time, Sara says, “This is fantastic!”

 

* * *

 

 

WINTER FASHION HAUL | YURI PLISETSKY   
**Yuri Plisetsky**   
3 years ago | 208 101 views  
i bought too much shit. 

It’s way too easy to find Otabek Altin on vk. A quick search and a couple of clicks and he’s found him. The fucker has some sort of obsession with motorbikes. And an obsession with leather jackets.

(And an obsession with figure skating?)

It doesn’t look like the man who he met at the coffee shop. But Yuri reasons with himself that it’s because no one wants to see a man in leather serving them coffee.

(Too tough)

(But Yuri doesn’t mind tough)

Yuri is about to close the tab. He’s wondering why he still cares about him. _Otabek_ was the one who insulted him and his dignity. How could someone just assume that he had been dumped like that?

Yuri catches his reflection in the mirror. Perhaps it’s the dark circles beneath his eyes. Or if it’s the way his lip is always positioned downwards, as if he’s always scowling. Maybe that’s why?

It’s just his face, though.

And Otabek Altin had offended the owner.

He stands up from his computer, moving around the apartment to find some food. Ever since he started his fashion blog, he chose to move out because his grandfather’s humble abode. Now, he lives in a studio apartment, with the bed in the corner and a large brick walled backdrop.

And one too many leopard printed pillow cases and one too many stuffed cats hanging about.

His hand twitches and he runs back to his computer.

“Oh what the heck,” Yuri mutters and clicks the, _send friend request_ , button. “What do I have to lose?”  

He has a lot to lose. Perhaps the man hates him now, after their interaction. Perhaps he never wants to see him again. But Yuri can’t remember a single friend who he has who he didn’t anger at first.

(It’s his sweet style)

At least twenty minutes later — not that he was paying attention — Otabek accepts the request. Then, Yuri stares at the screen.

Should he send a message first?

Or should he wait?

He decides he’ll wait and he drums his fingers against his chin. He places his feet up on the table. Chin on his hand, he leans forward to see if anything’s happening.

Groaning loudly and after an agonising three minutes, he finally breaks the ice.

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** Hey                                                                

                **Otabek Altin:** Hi                                                                      

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** coffee was good, ty                                   

                **Otabek Altin:** I’m glad you enjoyed it                               

That’s where the conversation dies. Neither types anything for another ten minutes.

Yuri slams his laptop shut. Why does he think something is going to happen? No sparks flew between them. What does everyone say when they’re in _love?_ They say shit about their heart beating fast, the heat rising to their faces.

Beneath his collar, he feels heat rising. And he’s painfully aware of how quickly his heart is beating in his chest.

The man is good looking.

The man is _really_ good looking.

(He has a crush on him)

“Fuck, stop it,” Yuri says aloud, to a confused meowl from Kiska — a stray Siberian cat he had saved when she was just a kitten.

He begins rifling through items in the cupboard, looking for something to eat.

“What do you want?” Yuri mutters, looking down at his cat. “Use your _words_ , Kiska.”

In the end, he finds a packet of cereal and pours it into the bowl.

“Shit,” he jumps when his phone vibrates. A loud smash later, and he’s cursing loudly. Kiska’s run away from him, with a loud screech, and he shouts, “Sorry, _sorry_!”

There goes all his cereal.

He looks at his phone again.

                **Otabek Altin:** Are you always that angry? :-O               

What the _fuck,_ who gave him that right to ask that kind of question?

Yuri grabs his phone and begins typing a venomous comment. But after a moment, he decides that it isn’t worth it and then peels away the anger in his tone.

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** only to people who pity me                   

He scrolls through the gifs on the app and settles on a particularly furious sheep that breathes fire. He flings himself across the apartment, both angrily, and not so angrily. Kind of giddily. Then he grabs the dustpan and begins sweeping the lost cereal and shattered glass.

                   **Otabek Altin:** however stupid a fool's words may be, they are sometimes enough to confound an intelligent man.                                                           

Yuri narrows his eyes.

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** what r u trying to say?                            

Otabek starts typing a reply — not that Yuri’s watching — and he keeps starting it and backspacing it.

But after ten minutes — not that he’s counting — and no response, Yuri can’t t help but feel a little disappointed.

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** first date in ages nervous as fuck #saveme • 2s 

Yuri’s decided he hates blind dates.

Hates them with a passion that can’t be extinguished.

He hates the idea of it. He hates the fact that he has to look good. And most of all, he hates the fact that he’ll have to engage in small talk.

The dinner reservation is at seven.

And it’s currently five in the evening.

Mila and Sara have been fussing over him for the last half hour and they’re going to fuss over him until he leaves the house. Maybe he’ll leave the house earlier just to stop them from annoying him.

“You’re scratching your lips!” Mila says. She’s like a bubble about to burst from excitement. She’s holding his shoulders and she’s grinning from ear to ear. Sara’s beside her, like a proud parent. He wonders why the fuck they care so much about what he’s about to do but he has to bite back all the scathing responses.

“Yeah? They’re itchy?” Yuri squints back at her.

“It means you’re going to get kissed to _night!”_ she dances around him.

Yuri knows better than to argue with her and her superstitions. Instead, he looks around, grabbing his cologne and dabs it just on his wrist and behind his ears. It’s one of his favourites — a Ralph Lauren that he had been sent in the mail.

Holding out his suit jacket, Mila helps him add the last touches to his clothes. “You look so handsome, I wish I was dating you.”

“Oi!” Sara complains.

“But I’m already dating you,” Mila coos and she pecks Sara on the lips.

Yuri pulls a face. Sometimes they both are _really_ disgusting. Especially in front of him. At least he doesn’t have to deal with Viktor and the _other_ Yuuri anymore. They’re off on their honeymoon that’s probably lasted twelve years. He’s lost count.

“Okay,” Sara says as she peels away from her girlfriend. “His name is Misha.”

“He’s okay with me calling him that?” Yuri asks.

Sara nods.

“Alright,” Mila says, standing back to look at him. “Don’t talk about yourself too much.”

“Who else is there to talk about?” Yuri mutters. “I mean, _doesn’t_ he know who I am?”

“Not everyone follows you, Yurochka,” Mila rolls her eyes.

“Well they should,” Yuri folds his arms. He’ll send a tweet — _date night._ And the girls will send him heaps of exclamation marks.

It’s going to be a long night, Yuri decides.

* * *

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** ·  30 m  
best café ever #coffeelife

 **❤**   1931 likes

They pass messages back and forth.

Yuri perfectly times the length it takes between each message. He’ll firstly make sure that some take twenty minutes, some take eight minutes. Enough to keep Otabek on his toes.

It’s the furtive smile he has while he’s working at one of his favourite cafes, tucked in a corner lane that betrays him.

“I’ve never seen you so happy,” Mila says. Her hair is tied in a bun and she’s nursing a cup of hot coffee in her hands. She’s got her university work sprawled out in a mess in front of her. “Who are you messaging, Yurochka?”

Yuri doesn’t hear it. Well, he does. But he pretends he doesn’t. He continues tapping away at his laptop. Part of him hopes that she won’t ask again because it means explaining _him_ to her. And he doesn’t particularly feel like explaining Otabek Altin just yet. Currently, the man only occupies his mind and none of his friends know him. It’s better that way, he decides.

Just in case Otabek decides to give up with him.

Just in case Otabek stops talking to him, then he can just move on and pretend nothing’s happened. Yuri angles his head out to the streets, to see a particular feline sit on the window sill on the apartment block opposite him.

He takes a picture and sends it to Otabek.

                **Otabek Altin:** That cat looks quite ferocious                 

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** i want it — i want _it!_ it can be my body guard. 

                **Otabek Altin:** Do you *need* a bodyguard? You already pack a punch. 

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** this is true                                                   

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** but i want one anyway                            

Mila still has her eyes wide open and she leans her head on a closed fist with a knowing smile.

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** one day i'm going to rescue a cat 

“Who is he?” she asks.

“He?” Yuri echoes, reluctantly lifting his gaze from his phone.

“Yeah. Unless he’s a she, which, I’m gonna say, you had me fooled,” she grins again. It’s that ingratiating, _knowing_ smile that gets him. He wants to slap it off her face. But he doesn’t have the opportunity to do that, because Otabek’s just sent him a message.

                **Otabek Altin:**  should we do something soon? 

Yuri’s eyes widen, his face turns red. Did he _really?_

“C’mon, Yura,” Mila says, kicking him beneath the table. Her grin is making him queasy. “ _You’re blushing_.”

“I think I just —“ Yuri squeaks. He never thought his voice could do such a thing. “I think I just got asked out on a date?”

Mila’s eyebrows shoot up and Yuri _swears_ she’s happier than he is. She gets out of her chair and she moves around the table just to see the messages. Tilting her head, she reads out the name, squeezing Yuri’s shoulders.

“This is great!” Mila nods at him. “What are you going to say?”

“I’ll wait to reply,” Yuri nods to himself.

“You, wait?” Mila laughs.

Yuri nods again.

He’s playing the game.

But two minutes later, he throws his hands up and exclaims, fuck it and sends back a message to Mila’s large grin.

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** r u asking? 

                **Otabek Altin:** Yeah :-) 

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** let’s do something 

“ _Stop grinning!”_  He hisses and kicks her beneath the table.

 

* * *

 

GET READY WITH ME | YURI PLISETSKY   
**Yuri Plisetsky**   
3 hours ago | 30 855 views  
when you've got places to be 

It’s now 7:02. Yuri wishes he came a little later so he doesn’t have to sit alone at a table for two. The waiter comes, perfectly clad in a suit and vest. He asks Yuri if he wants something to drink, in that condescending, ‘ _I’m sorry your company hasn’t arrived yet’_ sort of way.

“Wine,” Yuri says stiffly. “The red one.”

He’s nervous.

“Anything in particular?” the waiter asks with patience.

“The good one?” Yuri says. The waiter nods and walks away brusquely.

He’s never been _so_ fucking nervous before on a date. He’s out of touch, really. Swallowing, he looks at his phone. 7:03. Where the _fuck_ was he?

Three minutes _late?_

He just wants to leave now.

Yuri texts Mila.

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** he’s not here can i go home yet 

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** i'm being stood up pleaaaaase let me go home 

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** old HAG PLEAAAASSEEE 

                **Mila Babicheva:** … yura five minutes have passed 

                **Yuri Plisetsky:** please just let me leave 

He doesn’t get a response from Mila. She’s probably laughing with Sara at his discomfort. He fucking hates them. Once he gets home, he’s going to kill them. With a knife. No, a knife is too obvious. Blood will go everywhere.

“Are you Yuri Plisetsky?” a man asks.

Yuri’s gaze drags over him. The man has tightly cropped blonde hair and a soft jawline, eyes that make him look kind of like a teddy bear. His clothes are well fitted and his tie _matches_ his clothes perfectly. Yuri almost forgets to breathe.

The man’s waiting expectantly.

“Yes I am, Mikhail —“ Yuri starts, words stumbling through his mouth.

“Misha,” he corrects. He takes a seat opposite Yuri. “I’m terribly sorry I’m late. I was caught up with some work.”

 _Late_. Yuri looks at his phone.

“You’re only five minutes late.”

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

“Shall we order?” Misha asks with a smile that’s so warm, Yuri reckons he can roast marshmallows on it.

“Sure,” he says with a goofy smile.

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** get me a man with a motorbike puhLEASE • 3 years ago 

The sound of rumbling echoes down below his apartment. Yuri jumps from his chair. He peers from below and checks his phone a million times, waiting for Otabek to send him a message — _pretending_ that he doesn’t know he’s already there.

So his vk profile _hadn’t_ lied. He does have a thing for motorbikes.

                **Otabek Altin:** I’m down below. 

Yuri paces in the apartment. He breathes in and out, trying to still his racing heart. Then he stops and walks in another direction.

“I’ll be fine,” Yuri nods. And suddenly, he’s a teenager again. Going off on his first date, feeling giddy and happy, like nothing could destroy him. Like he’s on top of the fucking _world_. Then suddenly, his phone is vibrating and Yuri realises that he still hasn’t text back for ten minutes.

He answers it by clearing his throat.

“Hey, are you alright?” Otabek asks. His voice is smooth, like honey. “If you’re sick —“

“Oh no,” Yuri stutters. “No, no, no. Are you here? I’ll come down. Hang on let me find my — Kiska, you dumb cat, get out of the way — I’ll — do I need anything?”

“I forgot a knife, if you could bring that,” Otabek says. It’s hard to hear him over the rumbling of his engine.

“What, are you trying to kill me?” Yuri tries to joke.

“No!” Otabek replies a heartbeat later. “I just forgot one.”

“Sure,” Yuri pulls out the knife and chucks it into his backpack.

Kiska stares back at him, eyes wide. She pounces on his legs. Yuri scratches the back of her ears, eyes softening, “I’ll be home soon, _Kiska_.”

Today, Yuri decides, marks the day that he’s officially fallen in love with Otabek.

* * *

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** ·  2 h   
if only there were more food #amaze

 **❤**   8910 likes

They finish dinner three hours later. It’s not until the waiter comes quietly with the bill, asking them if they want to pay, that they’ve realised how much time they’ve lost. Yuri’s surprised as well.

He dreaded meeting this man at the start of the day.

He dreaded having to _talk_ to him.

But astonishingly, Misha is easy to talk to.

Apparently he’s a doctor at the main clinic in Moscow. It usually means that his hours are sporadic and that he doesn’t particularly _know_ when he’ll have time off and when he’ll get called. But he enjoys his job and that’s genuinely enough for Yuri.

“I’ll pay for it,” Misha says. He holds out his hand, to Yuri’s protest, and proffers a gold card.

Yuri licks his lips, the last of the gravy he had still lingering on his tongue. They head out, with Yuri closely wrapped by Misha’s side and an arm around his shoulder.

When they stand by the bridge, Yuri sighs. They’re close enough that their hands touch.

“I had a really great night,” he says.

Yuri nods in agreement. “Same.”

Then the silence hangs between them awkwardly.

“I would like to see you again,” Misha says. “If you would — let me — please?”

Before Yuri could answer, his eyes catch a man with a _very_ familiar undercut walk up the bridge, a gang hot on his heels.

* * *

 

For a moment, Yuri’s world seems so small. It’s now just him and Otabek, sitting side by side, hidden by a canopy and a mass of trees. He has spread a picnic rug across the grass and they both have their hands wrapped around each other.

Yuri’s feeling a little brave. But he doesn’t dare to make a move unless Otabek wants it.

Otabek’s breathing is heavy, his warmth bleeding into Yuri, and their faces are both flushed from the amount of alcohol they had just consumed.

“Do you want some more bread?” Otabek asks, breaking their gaze. He runs through the items left in the picnic basket and pulls out another bottle of wine. A split second later, there’s a breadstick in his hand.  

Yuri snatches the bottle of wine from him and takes a long swig, laughing. He passes it to Otabek, who also takes some, but his eyes are unfocused right now and he’s trying so hard to still look _gentlemanly_. It’s enough to make Yuri burst out laughing again.

“So, _Beshka_ , what do you do?” Yuri says, leaning close against him. He places a hand on his chest. “Are you studying?”

Otabek nods. “Accounting. But it’s a bit boring.”

“Ugh, how _dull!_ ” Yuri shouts, leaning heavily on Otabek. “Can’t you be, oh, I don’t know, a rocket scientist?”

“I never considered rocket science interesting,” Otabek says pensively.

“Neither,” Yuri says. “But it sounds fucking cool.”

"But I don't think my passion is in accounting," Otabek says, a breath away. "I think I like to write more."

And then they lapse into silence. It’s filled with tension and Yuri knows that. He’s about to move forward before Otabek speaks again.

“Yurochka,” Otabek asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** for the first time in fuck the stars are aligning • 8min 

“ _Be — ka?”_ Yuri glances at the man who’s stumbling backwards. His entire frame is shaking and he’s holding out his hands in peace at the attackers. If he’s saying something, his words are drowned by their shouts and sneers. He walks differently now, with his head nuzzled to his chest. He’s no longer as _proud_ as he used to be.

It has to be _him._

Misha grabs Yuri’s arm and whispers, “We should leave. Let’s not —“

But Yuri isn’t listening. He’s watching, wide-eyed with worry. He wants to move forward, he wants to help. But he isn’t a fighter. Feather boned and light, he’s more of a _runner_. If he could just call the police. If he could just move away.

“ _Yurochka,”_ Misha says. “Please.”

But it _is_ him.

It’s undeniably _Otabek Altin_ , standing right in front of him, exactly two years after he left.

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** ❤️️ • 3 years ago 

The kiss, Yuri decides, is like rain. It’s the relief after a hot day that satiates him. It’s the joy of all emotions cascading as one, culminating into one point. It’s everything he’s ever dreamt of and more. Each droplet providing a new wave of emotion.

His hands slide up Otabek’s back and despite being light headed and a little tipsy, he knows he’ll never forget this. He moves his hands down further, so that the now wrap around the small of his back, he’s on top of Otabek now, staring into his eyes. The man smiles warmly and that’s a smile Yuri will never forget. He lowers his mouth again, his skin tingling with electricity.

So this is what it’s like to kiss someone, Yuri thinks to himself.

He melts into the kiss, with the sun shining through the leaves, tenderly watching and shielding them from the outside world.

It’s as if nothing can destroy them.

* * *

 

Misha’s still trying to get Yuri to move as the gang laughs at Otabek. They spit at him, they pull at his now fraying suit. He turns to face Yuri whose hand is cover his mouth, trembling at the sight. Yuri is unsure if he noticed him, but the eyes that drip down to the ground are lifeless.

“Fuck you,” one of the men say. “You sun loving piece of _shit!”_

Then with one final blow, they knock him off his feet and into the river below.

Yuri’s running now, running down the stream. The current is strong at this time of the year. The gang of people just laugh.

“Is that your _lover?_ Sun boy!” They raise their middle finger and salute Yuri.

“ _Yura!”_ Misha shouts. Yuri doesn’t look back to see if he’s following. As soon as Otabek’s body snags on a couple of rocks, Yuri stops in place and begins to take his clothes off. The cold Russian night makes him regret the decision, but there’s no other way. If he doesn’t grab him out of the river, he’s going to freeze. He’s going to _die_.

(And Yuri can’t risk losing him again)

(Not when he’s just found him)

(Not again)

( _Please)_

_ (Please) _

“Yura!” Misha’s voice carries far. Yuri again, ignores him. He jumps into the river, not thinking about the consequences. Not really thinking about anything.

The cold travels through Yuri’s bones, rattling his soul, as his small hands reach out to grab the man’s shirt. 

His fingers slip through the fabric.

And slip again. 

“Shit,” Yuri shouts, getting a mouthful of water. He coughs and splutters, his muscles seizing up as he tries so very hard to keep swimming.

With one final lunge, his grip closes onto the body’s sleeves. Yuri hoists the limp body from the water and drags him onto the shore, his breathing laboured.

“ _Beshka,”_ Yuri whispers.

“I’ve called the ambulance,” Misha says with determination. He pushes his sleeves up and begins inspecting the body.  “Do some star jumps and push ups. Get your blood flowing again.” His fingers tenderly touch just below the man’s jawline. “And get _warm._ Put your clothes back on.”

Yuri’s trembling. At any moment his muscles are going to seize up, at any moment he’s going to shut down. So he just listens to Misha’s advice and he puts his clothes on as quickly as possible, jumping up and down to warm his body up.

He bites his bottom lip as Misha exhales air into Otabek’s lungs. When his eyes don’t open, Yuri’s heart beat sporadically in his chest, sinking to new depths.

“No, please don’t do this you fucker,” Yuri whispers. Dread.

Dread is a terrible source of energy. It pushes men to the limit as well as sucking more and more from them. It makes them do stupid things.

“I had  _just_  found you as well,” he shouts as he sinks on his knees next to Otabek. Tears are hot on his face, the words coming out as choked cries. “I had —  just — found — you  —“ 

Yuri’s hand trembles around Otabek’s face.

“— again,” he finishes. He folds in on himself in defeat.

He shouts every swear word he could because sometimes, swearing is all that he can do.

It dispels enough emotion in one word and it was _perfect_ for each occasion.

Then from the corner of his eye, he sees Otabek’s mouth twitch open. Yuri’s eyes widen as his spidery fingers grip Otabek’s shirt tighter. The man splutters, his eyes snapping open as he turns over, his arm resting on the ground. His body shakes from exertion and when he turns to see Yuri curled over him, tight lines knitted across his forehead.

Yuri hands him his coat, though his fingers still lingered on the warm wool. Otabek takes it, still in silent wonder. His eyes are dazed and he looks out to the river, his lips blue from the cold.

“You’re welcome?” Yuri says, breaking the silence between them. “Fuck, I get no thanks for saving your life?”

“The ambulance will be here soon,” Misha replies, calmly.

Otabek eyes narrows as he focused on Yuri. Slowly, he breathes out, all shaky, all watery and he coughs again, raising a trembling hand to his lips. “Spasibo,” he said, voice raspy.

Despite the roughness in his voice, Yuri can't mistake that for anything else.

It’s the same, confused tone they had on the night of their first date. Both of their hands clammy and the awkward laughter hung between the two of them.

(It was the first time that Yuri had felt truly happy)

Yuri tries to look at his eyes, but Otabek turns away like he was hit by fire.

“Thank — you —“ he says again. Yuri recognises the way that the words always look so foreign on his lips, like he isn’t here. Like he isn’t _earthbound_.

Otabek slowly rises to his feet, like a lamb taking its first steps. Yuri angled his head to the side, taking him in as he unfurls like the sky on a moonless night — slowly, and all at once.

“Hang on,” Misha says, grabbing him. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

“Beka,” Yuri sighs. He hugs him, nuzzling his chin against his chest. Bruises line his neck, varying shades of green and blue. It tears Yuri’s heart.

Otabek squints at him. “I’m sorry… but who are you?”

Yuri freezes in place, eyes wide. “You don’t know who I am?”

Before the man could respond, the ambulance lights flood the area, leaving Yuri’s body heavy in stunned silence.

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** i AM SO ????? • 3 years ago 

Yuri gets home late. His hand still lingers around Otabek’s hands as he simply leans on the motorbike, face stern but eyes soft.

“You should sleep,” Otabek says.

“What about you? Do you —“ Yuri starts. He looks at his feet. “Do you want to stay over?”

Nervous.

Anxious.

Is this how people _felt_ all the time?

“I should get home,” Otabek smiles in response. “I’ll text you.”

Yuri waves at him as he rides his motorbike down the lane, away from his apartment block. He watches with longing. Hoping that he’ll come back, change his mind. But when he doesn’t, Yuri sighs.

He turns back and trudges into his apartment. But he’s still giddy. He’s still strangely happy.

“I had a great day,” he says to her. “It was —”

Kiska greets him with a headbutt.

“It was so fucking magical.”

He reels around the apartment, spinning.

 “Shit,” Yuri mutters as he falls onto his bed. He stares at the ceiling.

 

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** sometimes life just hits you in the fucking face • 5min 

“Where is he?"

Yuri could hear Mila’s shout from the hospital room.

Yuri peels himself from the chair beside the hospital bed, wondering why he’s still here, wondering why he’s waiting for the man who had disappeared from his life two years ago. Misha had come and gone, checking up on them. He’s the one who gave Yuri the blanket. Part of him is apologetic as to how their first date ended, but Yuri’s been waiting for this moment for ages.

He’s been waiting for Otabek for no reason, clinging on the hope that he’ll come back.

And here he is.

Tangible.

And incomplete.

The blanket around his shoulders drops to the floor as he left the room, peering to the side and trying to track Mila.

He still smells of river water, but at least he’s warm now.

Raising a hand to his mouth, he calls out her name and he waves her down, trying to get her to stop harassing the nurse who clearly looks bewildered. Sara buries her face in her hands, trying to hide from the embarrassment that is Mila.

 “I’m sorry you shouldn’t —“ the nurse starts.

“Yurochka!” Mila exclaim as their eyes meet Yuri sheepishly waves at her as she runs down the corridor. She flings her arms around him, lifting him up. There’s a certain level of relief in her hug as she brings her hands down, holding Yuri by the shoulders, almost shaking him. “Thank fuck you messaged us. We were getting worried.”

When Mila pulls away, Sara moves forward and gives Yuri a long hug. “What happened?”

“I was saving a guy,” Yuri replies, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oooh,” Mila’s eyebrows shoot up. Taking a peak into the hospital room, she grins, looking back at Yuri approvingly. But then she furrows her brows. “But how was the date with Misha?”

“It was good, it was good,” Yuri says. He’s trying so hard to not think about what happened that night. “I really like him.”

Sara seems to grow at that statement. “Really?” She’s beaming now.

“But who is he?” Mila asks, angling a thumb at the hospital bed.

Yuri doesn’t want to answer. As Mila got closer, she stops suddenly. Her body is rigid and she spins around, deliberation coating her movement.

“Yura…?” she asks, almost a little too quietly, almost a little too afraid.

Sara turns to look at Yuri, trying to determine what had transpired between them in those three seconds.

But neither of them explain, neither of them wants to admit who the man is on the hospital bed and what he means to Yuri. Saying it aloud will shatter the illusion that everything is fine.

“How are you feeling?”

Yuri nods. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. His breath is stuck in his throat and he isn’t steady on his feet. Pushing his hands together, he squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to calm the world that is about to crumble around him.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Mila says, she’s trying to stay chirpy. It takes a bitter turn at her next words. “The man who broke your heart.”

Yuri nods again glumly. And here he is, breaking it all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek courts Yuri

**yuri-plisetsky** ·  4 h  
only blankets and coffee will make a #shit day less shit

 **❤** 5078 likes

 

“Uck,” Mila says after their silence. They’ve been standing awkwardly, looking at the man on the hospital bed, wondering when he’s going to wake up. Wondering what to say. “This is bullshit.”

“Bullshit?” Yuri echoes.

Mila spins on her heel, her hand twitching. It’s eerie, seeing this side of Mila. Yuri’s used to tease after tease. Now he's faced with _this_ Mila and he doesn’t particularly know what to do.

Shout back at her?

Too easy.

“Stupid and bullshit,” Mila huffs.

Instead of saying anything, he moves back to his seat and grabs the book he’s reading — dog eared and the pages are soaked.

“Don’t you think this is _too_ coincidental, Yura?” Mila asks as she takes a seat by the chair opposite. She pulling her jumping closer towards her. Her hand perches pensively in front of her lips as she stares at the ground intensely.

Yuri hates it when she’s like this.

It means she’ll say something that makes sense.

And he doesn’t want anyone to say _anything_ that makes sense right now.

Logic is bullshit. And he knows it.

Mila holds her hands out, like a conductor, ready to start an aria. “Like… you’re off on your first date after finally moving on. And he turns up out of the blue?”

Yuri’s hands are numb. His entire body is numb.

Shut the _fuck_ up. He wants to say, but his lips are glued together.

And she releases the final hammer to the nail of thoughts — a blow of sense. “It’s too coincidental.”  

“I don’t need this,” Yuri says, his voice is low and it’s ominous. He’s staring at the barrel of a gun. He knows his mistakes and he _knows_ what he’s going to have to do eventually.

Conclusion would be nice.

A final goodbye, probably.

“Yuri just,” Mila starts and she lets out a tight sigh. She grabs her bag and holds Sara’s shoulder. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Yuri gives her a ghost of a smile. “When do I do anything stupid?”

The two women roll their eyes and walk out of the room.

Suddenly, the weight of the night’s evening suddenly comes crashing down on him.

Otabek doesn’t recognise him.

Which is strange because they spent a good part of a year together. They were never out of each other’s sight. If this is what it means to dump someone and forget about them, Yuri isn’t having any of it.

And yet part of Yuri misses him. He wants him so badly, like a drug that he’s been deprived of for the last two years.

Otabek is motorcycles and a fast life, never thinking after tomorrow. He’s lightning on stormy nights. He’s a pulsating light in the darkness.

Otabek _was_ Yuri’s. And now he’s there, lying on the bed, a kiss away from reality.

“You know who I am.”

Startled, Yuri lifts his gaze. He wonders how long he’s been awake for.

“I met you a couple of years ago,” Yuri mutters.

His heart is beating fast.

Sweat glistens his face.

He smashes his hands together.

“I don’t remember,” Otabek murmurs. Sadness oozes from him like ink on paper. “People — are — good — at making me forget.”

“Sorry?” Yuri stares at him, bewildered.

Otabek studies him behind a sombre expression. Yuri’s about to spit at him. Annoyed and tired of all of this. He should be home in bed.

Not here. _Not_ fucking  _here_. 

“You must have loved me a lot then,” Otabek says instead.

Yuri opens his mouth. He swears he’s bleeding from each word. Otabek speaks as if their time meant nothing to him. But the stillness in his eyes, the tight breath he’s taking.

It’s all —

It’s all so real.

And so laboured.

(He’s real)

“Did you need a place to stay?” Yuri asks. He leans forward, as much as he dares. His hands delicately touch Otabek’s knuckles. The man pulls away a little too violently.

(And that _hurts_ )

Otabek nods. He has a stubble that halos his jawline. It doesn’t suit him. It doesn’t look like the neat Otabek that he once knew. Sitting before him is a shell of a human who had glory written in his eyes.

“Who were those people?” Yuri asks.

“Acquaintances,” Otabek replies tightly.

 Yuri turns away.

“What?”

“I’ll wait until you tell me the truth.”

* * *

  

i gOT SHOT IN THE HEART ???? | YURI PLISETSKY (Private)   
**Yuri Plisetsky**   
2 years 7 months | 1 005 841 views  
i'm in love 

It’s evening when he wakes up. The previous night, Yuri had gone out. Got hammered. And really, it’s amazing he managed to get home. He pushes back the covers and begins finding some pants. His phone vibrates again, but he ignores it. It’s probably a notification from twitter or something.

Picking up the nearest pair of jeans, he lifts it to his nose.

“Shit,” Yuri says, pushing it away, his face scrunched up. His hands close around the aerosol can and he sprays it wildly before slipping on the pants. Then he’s trying to find a shirt so that he’s at least decent if anyone waltzes into his pad unannounced.

(Mila)

Groaning loudly, he turns his phone to see a message from Otabek. The time mark is three hours ago.

               **Otabek Altin:** I want to show you something.

Oh shit. He hopes that he doesn’t want to stop showing him whatever that is.

He quickly sends back a message, scratching Kiska’s ears as she purrs lightly beside him.

               **Yuri Plisetsky:** was it urgent? i'm sorru I didn’t see ths on time

               **Yuri Plisetsky:** just wke up  !!

               **Otabek Altin:** It’s alright, I saw your Instagram posts last night. I hope you had a good time.

               **Yuri Plisetsky:** barely remember the night. hope i didn’t post anything shit

               **Otabek Altin:** :-)

Yuri squints, with anxiety clinging his frame.

He didn’t.

He fucking didn’t upload anything that night. He couldn’t remember.

(He hopes that it isn’t anything embarrassing)

He begins trawling through each one of his public profiles, inspecting the carnage.

“Fuck,” Yuri says aloud. “Fuck. _Fuck.”_ He’s swearing stridently enough for Kiska to meowl in protest.

His drunk tweets are a mess, his Instagram is now chaotic with photos that show of more of his body than he’s ever wanted. He’s swallowing hard, face flushing.

               **Yuri Plisetsky:** tell me that u didn’t see all of that

No reply.

               **Yuri Plisetsky:** TELL ME PLEASE YOU DUMB FUCK

No reply.

Then, the three dots fade onto the bottom of the screen and Yuri’s sighing in relief.

               **Otabek Altin:** ;’-)

Yuri curses to himself over and over again. He saw it. Now he has to leave the country. 

               **Yuri Plisetsky:** do u still want to show me that

               **Otabek Altin:** I’ll pick you up.

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** my dreams, what has become of their sweetness? what indeed has become of my youth • 3 hours ago 

It’s their proximity that gets to him. Yuri holds the blade down the bottom of Otabek’s neck, his hand coated in shaving cream. The man hasn’t properly shaved in a while. His hair has been cut so raggedly and large dark circles still rim his eyes.

Yuri swallows hard and begins moving the blade down as slowly as he can. Trying to be careful.

Oh he’s trying to be _so_ fucking careful. Taking a deep breath, he angles the razor and pushes away the shaving cream.

His hands are shaking violently.

He wills them to stop shaking.

But they shake even harder.

Foam covers his hands and he knows he’s going to fuck up at some point.

It’s the proximity, he repeats again in his mind. It’s the proximity that’s making him hazy.

(Shit)

He’s trying hard to not think too much. He’s trying so _fucking_ hard. When Otabek moves slightly, Yuri’s grip on the blade slips and blood tints the white shaving cream.

“Sorry, sorry,” Yuri mutters. And he’s muttering it over again, because he can _see_ the lines of bruises and cuts. And he’s just added to them. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Otabek is calm. He's the still water you find after the end of a storm. “It’s okay. Thank you for doing this.”

Yuri stares at his brown eyes, soft and unwavering. In the end, he breaks down and sobs, shoulders shaking, the blade clattering uselessly on the tiled floors.

“Fuck,” Yuri says to the air. He turns away. “I can’t fucking do this.”

Otabek doesn’t say anything. His jaw tightens.

And Yuri hates himself for noticing that.

He rubs his hands up his arms and walks away to the door. He leans against it, letting out a watery breath. He lets out another.

And another.

(He can’t do this. He can’t _stand_ this)

(He has to stop)

(He has to leave)

Otabek stands up from the chair and moves to Yuri. Soon enough, strong arms wrap around him and he’s crying into a familiar chest. It’s warmth, it’s the touch he’s been starved of for years. Everything about this is what he’s been craving: Otabek Altin, in his arms.

But it still feels so very unfamiliar.

* * *

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** ·  2 years 7 months  
he's beautiful and #mine

 **❤** 1057 likes

 

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” Otabek says as he holds the door open to another room.

The first thing Yuri noticed when Otabek opened the door to his apartment is the fact that he’s wearing a singlet and a snapback. He has a protein shake in hand and offers some to Yuri who responded scathingly, “Do you _think_ I work out?”

It’s a little odd being inside Otabek’s place. His apartment is frighteningly clean. Everything is compartmentalised. Even his large collection of tea is in boxes by the kitchen. And he’s got an overly large bookshelf with overflowing novels and magazines. Everything is how it should be.

Yuri folds his arms, mouth quirked. “Cross my heart.”

“That still sounds sarcastic,” Otabek replies quietly.

“I promise, Beshka,” Yuri says, tilting his head to the side. Every time he’s with Otabek, he’s like a different person. Kinder, he guesses. Less standoffish, he knows. And calmer, he’s certain. The comments from Yuri’s Angels are pretty much the same on his latest video with Otabek—

 

— he’s changed!!

 

— I like the old Yuri

He sucks in a deep breath and opens the door, pushing another button.

The moment Yuri crosses the threshold, his eyes widen. He’s never seen anything like this. A string of fairy lights hang loosely along the walls. As soon as he lifts his head up to look at the ceiling, he gasps. Dots of lights cover the ceiling, winking back at him.

It’s like his own personal sky. Otabek lingers behind him, nervously.

“What is the fuck this?” Yuri breathes as he spins around. “This shit is amazing.”

He keeps spinning and he’s suddenly so fucking happy. He wants to stay here forever, under the blanket of safety that’s the lights. He feels like a fucking _god_ here.

With a knowing smile, Otabek holds out his hand. “Promise me you won’t freak out.”

Yuri opens his mouth and closes it again.

“If you’re going to do something shit,” Yuri says, finger outstretched. “I’m going to scream loudly.”

Otabek’s jaw tightens. Yuri notices it all. He’s watched him so many times that he knows _all_ of Otabek’s tells. Then he sighs. In a way that says he’s giving Yuri a chance. In a way that he’s showing Yuri his deepest secret.

“It’s my own personal universe,” Otabek says. He’s quiet now. “This is where I create things.”

The bottom of his face is lit up and his eyebrows furrow in concentration. For a split second, Yuri thinks he’s imagined it. But then it’s there, right in front of him. Lightning flashes across Otabek’s palms. A light wind buffets hair across Yuri’s face and the candles around the room catch aflame at the same time.

“Shit,” Yuri says. He’s not too sure how to react. Part of him wants to continue marvelling at everything. The other part wants to scream. But it’s harmless, all of this.

Another light flies from Otabek’s hands. A horse gallops around them before morphing into a small cat. Yuri grins stupidly. He reaches out to touch the cat but the moment he touches it, the image scatters into the darkness.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone,” he says. He turns off the lights and now it’s just his voice in the vast emptiness of the small world they’ve entered. “I just wanted you to see my universe.”

“You’re letting me in?” Yuri asks.

With the lights haloing him, Otabek nods.

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** i don't think i'm sleeping tonight• 5min 

“Can’t sleep?” Yuri asks as he walks into the living room.

Otabek shakes his head, bed hair falling across his eyes.

He sits by the dying fire, shoulders hunched and his knees close to his chest. Yuri heads into the kitchen and begins making some hot chocolate. He sniffs the milk to see if it’s off (it isn’t) and some cream. A pinch of salt, some melted chocolate and a bit of vanilla goes into the milk until it’s boiling.

It’s what he makes when he can’t sleep.

Sugar with creamy goodness.

He splits the two and passes one to Otabek, taking a seat on the sofa. He’s a couple of metres away from him — but he wants to lie next to him. That’s all he wants to do right now.

But he doesn’t.

Of course he fucking doesn’t.

“Where’s that magical book of yours?” Yuri says. He props his head on his hand and stares at Otabek expectantly. The man freezes.

He turns around in deliberation.

“I — told you about that?” he says slowly.

“Of course you did,” Yuri replies. Almost a little angrily, but he manages to reel in more anger. He’s not going to resort to that, whatever the man has been through. “We told each other everything.”

“It’s still here,” Otabek whispers. He lifts the mug to his mouth and blows gently. Steam masks his expression for a second, but it’s there again — fits of fear through broken stoicism.

Yuri nods again. He has so many questions on his lips but he won’t say a single one. Not until he knows that Otabek is ready. The other side of him is still bitter. He grabs his phone, his heart sinking in apology.

Despite it being three in the morning, the message is dated a couple of minutes ago.

               **Misha** : I hope your friend is okay. Would you like to have a second date?

**Yuri Plisetsky:** i’m sorry, this is just a really bad time for me right now. can i message you when i’m ready?

Misha doesn’t reply to that.

Yuri collapses onto the sofa and stares at the ceiling. His mind is whirring. There’s so many things to think about but then again there’s so little to think about. He’s used to just _doing_ without thinking about the consequences. Without thinking too much about others. Because it’s just him looking out for himself in a world where everyone’s out to eat you.

“When you have the power of creation in your hands,” Otabek says. He’s staring into the flames, his hand raised as he moves it. The fire flickers and warps, horses jump from it and arrows fling themselves across. “You forget what it’s like to be useless. You forget what it’s like when people strip you from your powers.”

“But you still have them,” Yuri says, pointing at the flames.

Otabek simply laughs hollowly. “Barely.”

* * *

 

THE BOYFRIEND TAG | YURI PLISETSKY (Private)  
**Yuri Plisetsky**   
3 years ago | 2 055 542 views  
meet my boyfriend 

“Look at this,” Otabek whispers. They’re seated by the river’s edge, with their shoes off. The water laps at their feet. Yuri’s found a couple of flat rocks and he holds them in his hands, ready to fling them. But when Otabek catches his attention, his heart is already soaring.

He pushes all his attention on him. The way the setting sun catches the whites of his eye. The way his lips tremble when he’s thinking. Everything about Otabek Altin up close is _his_ to decipher.

His own mystery.

Fuck.

He never thought he’d enjoy someone’s company so much.

(Well, other than himself)

Otabek holds out his hands in peace and he closes his eyes. Yuri watches with growing excitement. Every time he does this, something beautiful gets created. Or every time he writes something down, another beauty bursts from the pages.

From his hands, a flower curls up into the world. His skin prickles as he feels something shift around him. Otabek says it’s the energy he’s tapping into, some sort of blanket around the world.

He’s smiling brightly now, and it’s one of the few times Yuri’s ever seen him smile like that. Yuri winds his hands around Otabek’s free palm and squeezes it with a reassuring pump.

“It’s beautiful,” Yuri says.

“I would make you a billion flowers,” Otabek says. “Just to show you what it’s like to be in a room full of you.”

A laugh erupts from his lips. “Fuck. You think I’m a billion flowers? You’re such a fucking sap, Beshka.”

“Sunflowers, maybe,” Otabek drifts off. He looks across to the horizon, not dismayed by Yuri’s comments. “A person who’s always searching for the sun.”

“You’re my _sun_ , Beshka,” Yuri says. He gets onto the tips of his toes and kisses him. At first, the surprise runs through Otabek, but he leans into the kiss.

Bubbly soft drinks and stolen kisses. That’s what this is like.

They’re two sides of a coin, two opposites. And yet they fit together like puzzle pieces. Yuri’s eyes flicker shut, his hand resting on Otabek’s chest.

Both their hearts are hammering in their chests now.

Both of them are beating in unison.

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** old youtube videos are super embarassing to watch• 20 min 

Yuri seats Otabek by his laptop. They’re close enough that their shoulders touch and for the first time, Otabek doesn’t flinch. He sits there calmly assessing the situation. Yuri’s heart is thudding in his chest. His ears are red. He’s hoping that he doesn’t notice.

This might not help.

(But Yuri sure hopes it does)

Somehow, a younger Yuri managed to convince Otabek to go on camera. The man was (is) clearly camera shy, with clipped sentences and awkward pauses.

But that’s him.

That’s _Otabek Altin_. He doesn’t know how to act in front of a camera because he’s a rose waiting to unfurl. He thinks, he contemplates. He’s a dreamer in the way that Yuri isn’t. He’ll take centre stage when he wants to. He’ll take his glory… his _writing_ glory, when he wants to.

Because Otabek Altin creates the most beautiful and elegant pieces of fiction.

“Do you remember this?” Yuri asks.

Otabek nods with hesitance. He doesn’t remember this. They both know it.

Yuri curses loudly. He slams his laptop shut. This is too much.

“You dumb fuck,” Yuri walks off. He raises his hands to his hair, running his fingers through them. He tugs at them a little until the pain is too much. And he just thuds his forehead against the fridge door repeatedly.

He can feel Otabek’s stare boring into the back of his head.

“This was a fucking waste of time,” Yuri says. His eyes are burning with tears. Everything he’s kept inside of him suddenly spills out and part of him in the corner feels like he’s going to regret everything. But he has to say it.

Otherwise, what’s the point of keeping everything festering inside his soul?

“Why did you forget about me? What was the _point?_ Did I break your heart? Did I —“

“No,” Otabek interrupts him. It’s a strong, forceful no. It’s a no that makes Yuri skid to a halt so suddenly. “I’m sorry for this, Yura.”

“Yu — ra.” Yuri’s almost crumbling at those words. He’s been torn apart so many times that he doesn’t know why he’s being undone once more.

“You — “ Otabek’s words get jumbled in his mouth. He stops. He’s taking a deep breath now and Yuri wants to touch him. He wants to trace his hand around that jaw. He wants to tell him that it’ll all be okay.

But it isn’t okay.

It isn’t _fucking_ okay.

(because some wounds never heal)

“You deserve the universe, Yurochka.” His eyes are sorrowful. “Not… not some lowly star like me.”

 

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** i believe in magic • 2 years and 4 months 

Yuri lies on Otabek’s shoulder. The world is quiet to him and they’re the only ones alive. He looks up at him with a smile on his lips. Nothing can tear them apart now.

Otabek has a notebook in hand, eyes pensive and solemn. He taps the notebook with his pen and chews his bottom lip.

“What are you trying to write about?” Yuri asks.

At first, he doesn’t reply. He slowly takes in the half naked boy on his shoulders and leans down to peck him on the lips. For a while, the kiss lingers and Otabek seals them together with his tongue tracing the bottom.

Then, as they break away, Otabek whispers, “You.”

The breathy word makes Yuri’s cheeks flush.

“What have you written yet?” He sidles closer, long blond hair falling across Otabek’s chest.

Otabek smiles to himself. “I haven’t quite finished.”

Yuri peers through the dishevelled notebook. But Otabek pulls his hands to his chest, raising an arched brow.

“You can’t —“

“Please _Beka,_ at least just a glimpse.” Yuri leans over him, wrapping a leg over his chest. He drags a finger up his stomach and pouts.

Otabek concedes, closing his eyes gently. “A comma at the end of a sentence, a breath that’s waiting to continue. A world at your fingertips and a joy that blossoms in your heart.”

“And that’s your description of me?”

Otabek nods.

“You dumb fuck,” Yuri says with a huge smile on his face. He likes the attention. He craves it like a cat. With his forearm on the bed, he lowers his head. His lips brush over Otabek’s. Their noses touch, and their eyes close.

The universe is theirs tonight.

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** one day more• 1s 

“What are we going to do about him?” Mila asks. She’s whispering but she’s still said it loud enough for the entire table to hear. Yuri doesn’t know. He digs the palm of his hands into his eyes.

He has his laptop in front of him, with his email account up. His hands hover above the keyboard and he’s thinking. At least, he’s _trying_ to think.

It’s fucking hard to think when Otabek’s there by the couch. He’s barely moved since the morning. Either, he’s in pain, or he doesn’t know how to live anymore. And Yuri isn’t even sure if he’s willing to help him with anything anymore.

He doesn’t owe him anything.

(The man broke his heart)

(but he doesn’t look like he broke it on purpose)  

“He comes back into your life like some cliché love story,” Mila exclaims. “And you’re just _okay_ with this?”

“Of course I’m not fucking okay with this,” Yuri hisses. He’s trying to stay quiet. He’s trying to stay calm. But it’s hard to stay calm when Mila makes so much fucking _sense_. “Why would I be okay with this?”

“Because he’s _still_ here!” Mila throws her hands up into the air. She points at him with such force that Yuri thinks he’s going to fall over from the air she’s moved. “He’s _still_ fucking _here!”_

“What else can we do with him? He’s got nowhere to go!”

“You still think he’ll remember you.”

Right on the fucking bullseye.

He still has hope.

He still believes in Otabek Altin, even when no one else does. The man is destined for glory. He’s destined for golden medals for his dulcet writing. His fiction that illuminated Yuri’s heart.

“You think,” Mila says, “that he’ll love you again.”

Yuri’s thoughts slow. The world around him seems to stop at that realisation.

“Yes.” He palms the table. He’s about to smash something again but he reels in his anger. “A million _fucking_ times _yes!”_

“When are you going to learn that you don’t only love one person? That you can love more than one person.”

“When are you going to learn that I’m _trying_. But my _first_ love is sitting right _fucking_ there and I can’t _fucking_ help but think, ‘Hey, this might work again’?” Yuri’s on his feet now. The chair’s fallen behind him.

Otabek looks like a startled deer in the corner. His face is as pale as the moon and he’s losing even more colour. Apologies coat his frame and he’s about to say something, but Mila beats him to it.

“I warned you,” Mila points an extended finger at Otabek. “I warned you all those years ago to not break his heart. And you did it anyway. You _fucking_ did it anyway.”

 

* * *

 

MY BOYFRIEND DOES MY MAKEUP | YURI PLISETSKY (Private)  
**Yuri Plisetsky**   
2 years 3 months | 3 015 752 views  
he sucks. 

“What’s the biggest thing you can create?”

“Hm?” Otabek lifts his eyes from his notebook. He’s writing again, but he’s always writing. Yuri sometimes asks him to read stuff aloud for him, but Otabek rarely does.

It’s always clips.

It’s always sappy scenes.

The dumb fuck.

(But Yuri loves it nonetheless)

“I can create a whole universe,” Otabek says. He closes his notebook gently. “In here.”

“When are you going to get it published,” Yuri whines.

Otabek laughs. His phone vibrates on the table next to them and he picks it up.

“Allo?” he says, listening. The smile drips from his face. Colour fades to white and he’s shaking. He moves away from Yuri and stands by the window. He talks in hushed tones.

Yuri catches glimpses of the conversation.

“ _How did you get this number?”_

More silence as he begins pacing.

“ _You want me back?”_

Another step back and forth.

“ _I can’t go back, you know that.”_

The hand that holds the mobile phone is shaking now.

“ _I can’t create it. I can’t create what you want me to create.”_

Yuri’s staring with worry.

When Otabek hangs up, he shouts, “What the _fuck_ was that?”

“Nothing,” Otabek says quickly. “Yura, it’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” Yuri asks. “Because it didn’t _fucking_ sound like nothing.”

Otabek tries to deflect the conversation. “I’ll read you something.”

 

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** https://youtu.be/e5124rff • 5 hours 

His fitful sleep is broken by loud thudding down the corridor and the sound of dry heaving. He gets to his feet, the cold wooden floor bleeding through his unclothed feet. Kiska yelps when Yuri accidentally steps on her tail.

“Don’t just sleep there,” he mutters. “You dumb cat.”

Stumbling down the corridor, he moves to the bathroom. He rubs bleary eyes and sees Otabek hunched over the toilet. His hands clutch the toilet seat until they’re as white as a sheet. He coughs, his body convulsing as he lets out a long groan.

Wordlessly, Yuri shoves a glass under the tap and fills it up with some warm water. He sits on his haunches and proffers it. When Otabek lifts his gaze, eyes dazed, Yuri feels like his world is knocked off centre. Everything about that is _wrong_.

He tries to ground him by leaning a hand on his shoulder. But the man flinches, flinging himself backwards so that his shoulder blades hit the wall. He leans forward, with his hands clawed like a vice around the sides of his head.

“ _I’m sorry,”_ he shouts. “ _Shut up! Please **shut up**_ **.** ”

“I’m not talking, fuckwit,” Yuri says. Although he has no idea if that’s the right thing to say.

But when Otabek’s eyes focuses on him, the fear and agony diffuses and he stares ahead in relief. Finally grounded.

Otabek drags his hands down his face, resting them on his mouth as he exhales shakily.

“Sorry,” he says after what seems like an eternity. He still refuses to make eye contact with Yuri.

“What do you have to be sorry about?” Yuri mumbles. “C’mon, let’s go back, you dumb shit.”

Otabek doesn’t get to his feet. He doesn’t move at all. Instead he’s squinting as if he’s reliving a memory. From the corner of his eyes, Yuri sees black splodges lining up his neck. There’s more this time, half purple, half green.

He furrows his brows, his hands moving against his volition. Slowly, but surely, he unbuttons Otabek’s shirt.

He doesn’t look like he has the energy to stop Yuri, so he just watches as Yuri raises a trembling hand to his mouth.

“Who the fuck did this to you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s all over his back.

He’s afraid that if he says it any louder, his voice would break.

Otabek brushes Yuri’s hands from his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter.”

“This is fucked up.”

He’s still silent.

“What the fuck happened, Beshka?”

A glimmer of recognition flickers across his eyes. It isn’t much, but it’s still there. Yuri lets out a breath he’s forgotten he’s holding.

“Is this related to the phone call? The people you wanted you to create something?” Yuri asks. He’s unsure how much he can push. He’s afraid that if he pushes too much, Otabek will curl up on himself and not say anything else. It’s how he works. He’ll say things when he’s ready.

Otabek nods. He’s about to say something else but his tongue catches in his mouth. He gasps loudly, falling to the ground. He writhes and groans. His fingers scratch at the tiled floors, new formed tears running down his face.

Yuri breathes out heavily, frozen in place. Panic makes his heart jittery in his chest. He holds out his hand, placing it on Otabek’s bare arm, hoping that the touch would ground him.

His chest heaves.

“I’m trying to protect you, Yura,” Otabek says. “If they know I’m here. They’ll get you as well.”

Yuri gawks back at him. Unable to say anything, he traces his fingers around Otabek’s jaw with worry.

“Don’t you see?” Otabek says. Agony radiates through his eyes. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Sh, sh,” Yuri whispers, tightening his grip. “What are you talking about?”

“The people who gave me the power of creation,” he says. “They’re _gods_ as well.”

Yuri’s about to ask more questions. But before he can, Otabek’s eyes roll back and he slumps to the ground.

 

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** when ur not too sure what to do about this #help #worried• 2 years 1 month ago 

The last month has been half spoken words and unanswered questions. Yuri sees Otabek less and less, and he’s worried. Ever since that phone call, he’s been unable to discern what’s wrong with him.

“I need you to private all those videos you made with me,” Otabek says. He doesn’t look like he sleeps anymore. He doesn’t look like he even writes anymore.

“Beka,” Yuri says. “Why? Can you at least tell me? I’ll do it, but can you tell me why?”

Otabek bites his bottom lip and turns away. He’s all jittery now. He’s walking back and forth. He’s pacing.

“Please,” Yuri says, his voice about to break. “I — I — want to help you, _Beka.”_

“I can’t risk you,” Otabek says. His voice is barely audible. “I can’t _risk_ you.”

“What the fuck,” Yuri sighs. “Please fucking tell me what the fuck is going on.”

This is bullshit.

Yuri hates being left in the dark.

“I love you so much,” Otabek says. He closes the distance between them, looking down at him, his hands tangled in his long hair. “I can’t lose you too.”

He wants to shake Otabek. He wants to shake the knowledge from him. But he can’t because he’s all secrets and half spoken truths.

“If you want to lie to me to protect me,” Yuri says slowly. Then he hardens his gaze, “Then you can find yourself another fucking boyfriend.”

This sentence startles Otabek. He opens his mouth and closes it again, storms raging behind his eyes. The turmoil that bleeds from him seeps into Yuri’s skin.

“You don’t know a lot of my past,” Otabek says. “You don’t know what I’m running from.”

“Oh boohoo,” Yuri says. “So you’ve got a dark past. You’re using that bullshit of an excuse on me?”

“I thought they wouldn’t find me here,” Otabek replies. He’s stopped pacing now, but he’s still on edge. If Yuri says one wrong word, he’s going to fall deep into the abyss of fear. “But they noticed the surge in creation. They noticed the change in energy.”

Yuri shakes his head. “You mean the so called blanket that you tap into?”

He nods.

Then the words come out painfully from his lips. Yuri can see how much he doesn’t want him to say them.

“You could forget all of this,” he says.

Yuri gapes at him. “What the _fuck?”_

Otabek’s holding his paper, poised. “It will save you.”

“You mean have a gaping hole in my memories where you used to be?” Yuri shouts back. “No fucking way. I’d rather die.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Promise me you won’t fucking do that to me,” Yuri says. “Even if you have to leave for some bullshit reason that someone’s after you. I don’t even know who’s after you. They’re not here.” Yuri gestures to the empty apartment. “I don’t see anyone _fucking_ here.”

“They’re biding their time,” Otabek says. He looks like a skeleton now.

“Don’t do this to me.”

Otabek nods. “I promise.” Then he says a heartbeat later. “But you have to promise something else as well.”

“What?” Yuri squints at him.

“To never look for me if I disappear.”

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** https://youtu.be/e6XHLcIGESY• 6s 

Yuri sits by the fireplace. He holds Otabek’s book in his hands. The spine is frayed and he’s frightened that if he touches it incorrectly it’ll break.

Energy thrums from it.

The exact same energy he felt every time Otabek had created something, made something from nothing. Yuri opens up the book to see most of the middle pages ripped out.

The pieces that he had written about Yuri isn’t there. Every single piece of prose, every beautiful line. All that’s left are snippets of his past. Unfinished sentences.

 _A dream that’s coming to an end_.

_A sudden full stop._

He doesn’t know what to do about this.

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** fuck EVERYTHING did it mean nothing to just leave like that?• 2 years 

Yuri’s heart is tearing into two. No three. No maybe even thousands of pieces.

He’s going to break everything. So he _does_ break everything. It doesn’t even matter if the item in his apartment is worth anything now because all he wants to do is crush it. Grief is a strange bedfellow, Yuri decides in the end. It consumes him.

It tears him apart.

Shattered glass lines his apartment. Kiska’s gone. She’s hiding. The clever cat. Or else she’s going to get hurt.

(And Yuri doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he discovers that he’s hurt his own cat)

The message lingers on the back on his tongue and he feels like he’s going to vomit.

(He is going to vomit)

He runs to the kitchen. Hands are pressed on either side of the basin. He dry heaves, he wants something to come out.

(His grief)

(Why is it still there)

Hands grab his shoulders and he punches them. New hands grab his shoulders and he lets them. He turns to face Mila’s worried expression. He wants to say that it’s alright. That he’s fine.

That he’s over it now.

But the message replies in his mind and the tears are burning his eyes all over again.

Grief’s shattered his heart.

Grief’s made him unable to move.

He’s gone.

Otabek Altin is gone.

* * *

 

Otabek lifts his gaze, eyes wide. “I remember you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to get this done before i started uni work again, but then there were so many rewrites and now i'm just tired so here it is, it's a little rough (actually very rough) it's also little dark, i guess?

**@yuri-plisetsky:** it’s over • 2 years ago  

A light knock on the door makes Yuri jolt his head, hitting it on the wall.

“Yura, are you in there?” A familiar voice asks through the cracks.

He groans, tugging his hoodie closer to him. “Go away.”

He shifts in the cramped space and winces when light pools into the small cupboard. Once his puffy eyes adjust to the onslaught of light, he squints at the person on the other side.

“Preevyet,” Mila says a little too lightly. She gets onto her haunches and pushes away some of the longer jackets to see Yuri’s face. Behind the concern, she lets out a tight breath. Holding her hand out, she says, “Thought I’d find you here.”

Yuri grabs it numbly. Warmth bleeds into him.

(He doesn’t deserve it)

“Come on,” she says, hoisting him out of the cupboard. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and just looks at the floor. Dazedly. The note is still crumbled in his jean pockets, with the ink smudged. “Hot chocolate?”

A secret smile bursts across her lips as she nudges him.

“I know your favourite recipe,” she says, with a hopeful grin.

But Yuri refuses to smile.

All the happiness in his life had been snuffed out the moment Otabek had left. All the time he had invested into one person had been wasted. He had seen the changes in Otabek in the last month. He had seen all the signs.

But there was little he could do to stop the man from leaving his life.

Or even leaving like that, without seemingly caring.

“Or —“ Mila drifts off. She pulls out something from her bag and she waves it in front of his face. “Pirozhki. I know it probably won’t be as good as your grandfather’s but I don’t think anything would ever be as good as his. After all, he was probably old enough to be the one who invented it.”

“I’m not hungry,” Yuri replies stiffly.

“When was the last time you ate?” Mila says. He doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t _deserve_ her at all. Sometimes, he wonders how they became friends. They’re two opposites, with two different dreams, and yet … she seems like the sister he never had.

The one constant in a world of variables.

<small> He didn’t _fucking_ deserve her.  </small>

“Mila,” Yuri says but the words feel like poison on his lips. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” Mila grabs him by his shoulders. “Yura, I haven’t seen you like this.”

She’s right, of course.

When the fuck _isn’t_ Mila right? Yuri looks down, bringing his hand to his mouth as he bites hard on his fist. Gloomy clouds storm in his mind. His shoulders shake. And soon, they’re quaking violently.

He wills them to stop shaking. Stop _fucking_ shaking. But his body has a mind of its own and a stray tear escapes him.

And that’s all it takes.

He curls in on himself, grabbing his arms, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“Yurochka,” Mila says softly. Her arm is around him.

“Fuck _off_!” Yuri shouts at her. He pushes her away, tipping the balance of the bar stool.

His shoulder blades hit the ground with a loud crack. He doesn’t scream. He only whimpers.

Slowly, he turns over, pain radiating through his body. But tears flow freely now.

He feels like his heart is shattering all over again. His mind is pooling around him, tender strings snapping and _snapping_.

He barely notices Mila lifting him to the sofa and pushing a cup of hot chocolate into his hands.

* * *

 

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** fuuuuuuuuuck • 2 hours  

“How? What do you remember?” Yuri says. Actually, he demands. But he doesn’t want to admit that. He’s tired of this game they’re playing — it’s like trying to navigate around shattered glass. “And don’t fucking lie.”

“It’s coming in pieces,” Otabek stops like he’s slammed the breaks. Movement all jerky. He wrings his hands together and loops them around his neck. “ _Yuri Plisetsky has the eyes of a soldier.”_

Yuri laughs. Full on, _properly_ laughs.

And it surprises him.

“You said that,” Yuri says. “You said that at some point, in one of your pieces you wrote. Is it still there?”

Otabek holds out his hands over the pages. Words slowly reveal themselves, neat calligraphy layered on one another.

“This is all that’s left,” Otabek says. “That’s all I could risk keeping in this book so they wouldn’t find you.”

“Who wouldn’t find me?” Yuri asks.

Otabek blanches at that. “A borrowed power always has to get returned unless the favour is paid.”  

Yuri scoffs and turns away.

“Yurochka,” Otabek says. His eyes flicker like a candle alight in an empty house. “ _Zhanym_.”

He sighs. He moves forward and sits on the couch beside him. His hands card through Yuri’s hair with such slow deliberation and the tenderness a lover. Yuri’s frozen in place, mouth ajar.

“I don’t remember much,” he says. “But this — feels normal. Feels like I should be doing this.”

Otabek licks his bottom lip and stares into his eyes. The universe that Yuri had once fallen in love with returns. It gleams on the surface and there are the stars again. Each one of them he’s memorised. Yuri’s hands rest on the small of Otabek’s back and drags them along his spine, feeling how every muscle tightens with each breath.

They’re close.

For the first time in a while, it’s familiar.

A habit that he had to forcibly removed, but now he’s _here_. In front of him. Yuri doesn’t know what had just transpired, how he remembered him, but he no longer _feels_ like a stranger.

When they kiss, it’s like fireworks in Yuri’s mind. His lip drags across Otabek’s lip, the starvation of touch getting to him.

“ _Solnishko,”_ Yuri says in a breathless whisper when they pull apart. Otabek nuzzles his head against his neck, dragging kisses across with frightening need. Their years apart have culminated to this: desperation masked behind their _freedom_.

“What did you say?” Otabek stiffens.

“ _Solnishko?”_ Yuri angles his head.

The line becomes visible across Otabek’s forehead. He chews the inside of his cheek, but as quickly as clouds on a windy day, they’re gone and he nuzzles his head against Yuri’s neck.

Fuck. He was going to move on. He was _going_ to move on. And now here he is, back at the beginning.

Perhaps he _is_ his _soulmate._

“You — hated me the first time we met,” Otabek says. His arm is beside him and he’s still on top, brown eyes shining with tenacity. If Yuri doesn’t capture this moment, he’s going to forget it, or it’s going to disappear like smoke.

 “I hate everyone the first time I meet them,” Yuri responds. He pulls out his phone from in between the sofa pillows and snaps a picture of him.

“Please don’t post that anywhere,” Otabek pleads.

It’s this all over again. “Why not?”

“Just promise me again,” he says. Then he trails off, laughing in a way that’s on the borderline of embarrassment and sincerity. “I was an asshole, for assuming that you had been —“

Yuri’s heart is probably going to burst in his chest. “That was more than two years ago, Beka.”

But there’s something else. There’s something foreign to his Russian. An accent bleeds through, as if it’s been layered behind falsity for so long. Yuri can’t quite put a word on it. It’s nothing that _he_ heard while they were together, all those years ago.

Can he take down a mask that easily? Can he forget someone that quickly?

“Kazakhstan,” he says, as if reading his thoughts. “The accent is from Kazakhstan.”

“W — why?” Is all Yuri manages to say.

“It’s my home,” Otabek says. He pushes himself away, shame radiating from him. “I’m sorry, Yura. I never told you the truth from the beginning.”

Yuri’s breathing stills. “You’re from Kazakhstan.”

Otabek nods. “I was running away.”

“Now you’re going to tell me that Otabek Altin isn’t your real name,” Yuri murmurs. He brings his legs to his chest and tries to make himself as small as possible.

“That is real,” Otabek says. “Everything about me is _real_.”

“Except for your accent. Except for your past that you never told me about,” Yuri glares back at him.

Otabek grabs the book from his top pocket. His hands hover above the torn pages, trembling as sweat lines his forehead. He concentrates, lips thin with grim determination. He drops the book and moves back with a start.

“The reason why I liked writing was,” Otabek says. He sighs to himself, slowly unfurling himself page by page. “It’s a way to start afresh. A way to start a completely new story for yourself. That’s what I wanted to do here in Moscow. Start a boring life as an accountant. One that —“

He stops and raises his hand up to the ceiling as if he’s trying to catch a life that he could never have.

“One that no one would ever think they could find me. One where I was completely free,” he says and then he laughs again. “I can create anything with this — used to.“

He gasps and winces. He digs his hands into his palms. Everything is restrained for a second. Just when Otabek opens up, he pulls in on himself again. He tugs the shadows back to coat him until there’s nothing left for him to reveal.

Something falls softly on Yuri’s head. He raises his eyes to see a flurry of snowflakes drifting loftily through the air around them. Sweat glistens across Otabek’s brow and he’s concentrating hard now, his hands moving like lightning in front of him. When he finishes, he gasps, slumping on the sofa, chest heaving.

“What happened? When you left?” Yuri asks. “Why did you leave?”

But he’s afraid.

So fucking afraid.

“I’ll help you,” Yuri says. He shouts, he thinks it actually came out as a shout. (He’s not sure) “I _promise_. Mila, Sara. We’ll help you.”

“You’re sweet,” Otabek says. “But I have to face this alone.”

“No, _no,”_ Yuri stands up. “I’m _fucking_ tired of this bullshit _stoic_ person you’re playing. You don’t have to bear the burden of the _fucking_ world alone. Friends can help. People who _love_ you can help.”

Otabek falls silent, but Yuri’s already furious. His chest heaves up and down. He’s glaring at him. He wants to strangle him. He wants to shake sense into the man’s brain.

“You love me?” Otabek says. He looks small and shaken. “Even after all these years?”

Yuri’s eyes soften, “Of course I fucking love you.

* * *

 

MOVING ON AND SELF CARE| YURI PLISETSKY   
**Yuri Plisetsky**   
1 year 8 months ago | 208 155 views  
you gotta care for number 1

The moon is shy today.

Yuri leans against the railing of the river’s edge, staring at the cloudy sky. It’s been two months since Otabek’s left him. And the hole in his heart has never completely healed.

(Nothing truly heals, Yuri’s discovered, but that’s just too poetic for his own goddamn mind to comprehend)  

Looking down at his hands, his eyes drift closed.

He’s tried meditating.

Fuck, he’s tried _everything_. Even, at Mila’s suggestion, tried _yoga_. Yuri shudders at the thought of having to go through _yoga_ again. At some point in his past, he _had_ done a bit of ballet, but yoga and ballet, he’s decided most adamantly, is _not_ the same.  

“Not all thunder can be tamed,” a voice echoes around him.  

Yuri looks around, tensing.

There isn’t anyone around him.

“Who the fuck is there?” He shudders, the back of his arms covered in goose bumps.

But there isn’t a response.

Instead, all the empty letters he’s received fall from his pockets and swirl in eddies around him. He captures one in anger, about to scrunch it up. He grinds his molars together, anger rolling through him. Then, something captures his attention.

It’s not empty.

Gasping, he reads Otabek’s perfect calligraphy, _bait out the moon_.

* * *

 

 

BE READY FOR EVERYTHING | YURI PLISETSKY   
**Yuri Plisetsky**   
2 hours ago | 20 814 views  
you don't know what shit life throws at you

Yuri is going to fight a lot of things. He’s going to fight Mila for taking liberty of _ransacking_ his wardrobe to try to find some clothes that fit Otabek. And he’s going to fight Sara for suggesting a double date as a mask to discuss more about their plan.

Mila’s called it, “A plan for freedom”, which Sara immediately changes to, “Fight for Liberty”. Something has been lost in translation, Yuri thinks.

Because, _fuck_. It sounds like a stupid bildungs roman adventure. Like the books he used to read in university or even in high school. Except for the fact that they’re no longer teenagers. Except for the fact that they’re not breaking through any stereotypes to grow more as a human.

They’re just trying to give back a man’s life.  

They’re just trying help him break free of the chains.

(But this still feels like a stupid movie)

It's also strange how quickly Mila’s distrust faded into exasperation. A short conversation behind a closed door and Yuri saying, “Please, I trust him,” seemed to make her sigh, agree and say something like, “And I trust you.”

At this point, his memory is a little hazy.

Yuri takes his time folding the sleeves of his white shirt. He takes his time to count how many steps it is between him and Mila, just to stop her from touching and pampering Otabek. He also counts how many steps it’ll take to kiss Otabek again. To feel those lips against his.

(But that one he quickly drowns in his fantasies.)

(Not in front of Sara and Mila)

(Never)  

When they get to the restaurant — a small corner restaurant a couple of streets away from their place — Yuri finds himself slowly warming up to the idea of the double date. He catches Otabek’s hand laces his fingers around them. Otabek stiffens, but he then squeezes back reassuringly. For the first time in a while, Yuri feels like he’s twenty-two again, with the world laid out in front of him, and a head full of dreams.

(He could get used to this)

“Okay,” Mila says as she sets the menu down, passing it to the waiter. “So, are you some sort of mafia crime lord?”

Yuri kicks her beneath the table. She kicks back. It’s not until Sara places a hand on the back of her knuckles and gives her a tight-lipped smile that she stops.

“Being a crime lord would be a lot easier,” Otabek says, a couple of seconds later. He doesn’t seem to have noticed what transpired beneath the table and Yuri likes it that way. He looks out to the window, shoulders tense and lost in thought. “It means I wouldn’t be so alone.”

Yuri’s fingers brush over Otabek’s knees and he turns suddenly, mouth open in surprise. Then his expression softens and it’s suddenly the younger Otabek all over again.

“Sorry,” Otabek apologises, a little flustered. “I know you all are here to help me, but I fear that I have put you in too much danger already.”

Mila lifts up the bottle of wine and pours herself some, tilting the glass into her mouth. She rolls her eyes again. “You already fucked up by tearing Yuri’s heart. At least cut us some slack. We don’t need to be helping you.”

“And I don’t want to damage it even more…”

“Well,” Mila slams the glass down. She swallows and glares back at Otabek who’s more startled than anything. “Fuck that. We’re already fucking here. So you better tell us your plan and let’s just get the _fuck_ on with it.”

“There’s a solar eclipse happening,” Otabek says. “This is going to sound… stupid and strange.”

“Stupid and fucking strange?” Yuri interrupts. His mouth quirks and he puffs his chest out. “Sounds like me.”

Otabek looks at him in a way that makes Yuri’s knees wobbly and his heart melt.

 “If I can return this book on the day of the solar eclipse,” Otabek starts saying. “Then that’ll destroy them. They won’t want this anymore.”

“But — you won’t be able to create anything,” Yuri says, his words choked.

“A pen can create a world far more powerful than magic,” Otabek says, back at him. But his smile is tainted with sadness as he traces a hand around Yuri’s jaw. His fingers hover just beneath his chin, all bony and calm.

Yuri almost forgets to breathe.

He _definitely_ forgets where he is.

Otabek angles his head and kisses Yuri.

(This feels right)

The axis of the earth tilts just a little bit. Gravity just pulls them together. And just as they break apart, eyes still closed, Yuri leans in further, a comet caught in the sun’s orbit. If he doesn’t slingshot, he’ll melt and get captured in the sun’s core. But part of him doesn’t quite mind that.

“You two are sappy as fuck,” Mila says which causes them to break apart immediately.

Sara grins. “It’s cute. Seeing as you always get pissed off at our displays of affection, Yura.”

Yuri narrows his eyes. “But that’s because you two are disgusting.”

Sara and Mila look at each other in the eye with large grins on their faces. Yuri wants to slap some sense into them.

But he doesn’t. _Of course_ he doesn’t. He has to be a decent human being.

(Gah, _being_ a decent human being is hard)

“The solar eclipse then,” Yuri says as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, adamantly refusing to make eye contact with Otabek.

(But _this_ kiss is something he could get used to)

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** i'm getting tired of all this bullshit in life• 1 year 6 months  

The following letters immediately get deposited in the bin at Mila’s insistence.

 _Creation was never meant to belong to man._    

_The beauty of chasing the sun is the fact that it lets you rest every day._

_The moon is so lonely. Dear, will you be here soon?_

 

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** on the road • 2 hours  

It’s been a while since he’s driven the Tesla. Yuri bought it on impulse after reading an article about clean energy. The thing is, most places he goes to are in walking distance. Driving is certainly something he doesn’t indulge in.

At twelve, the solar eclipse is going to happen. Otabek’s run through the plan with them a thousand times. Yuri’s waved it off with his hand one too many times and Mila’s grinned, “Too easy.”

Distrust exudes from Otabek, but there’s little he can do with his motley gang of people who are apparently going to destroy this item of creation once and for all. Or at least return it.

Otabek seems uncomfortably in the passenger seat. His hands turn the packet of patches back and forth, switching hands, pushed open. He sits on the edge, looking around, not quite trusting Yuri’s driving. In the rear-view mirror, Yuri sees Mila draped carelessly across Sara. Sara plays with Mila’s hair and Yuri has to stop looking.

“You drive like you’re running out of time,” Otabek says, his sentence is clipped.

“You’re used to motorbikes,” Yuri replies. “You drive fast all the time.”

“It’s different,” Otabek says, he says as he looks at his hands. “But solar power, huh,” he says with a secret smile. “You’re always looking for the sun.”

That’s the smile Yuri wants to see again. That _fucking_ smile makes his heart rattle in his chest. It makes him grin himself.

Yuri curses loudly when a person seems to come out of nowhere, slamming the break.

“What the _fuck!”_ he rolls the window down and pokes his head through. “You _piece_ of _shit!_ Watch where you’re walking!”

“Uh —“ Otabek starts.

“Ignore it,” Mila says, pushing her head between the two seats. “He does this all the time.” 

“I fucking do what?” Yuri says, glaring at her through the rear-view mirror.

* * *

  
 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** don't go quietly • 1 hour  

They stand at the opening of a forest, staring at the start of the hiking trail. The trees fan out around them and a couple of stray, cool clouds hang in the air like sentries. The trail has multiple weeds scathing it.

Sara shuffles towards it, pushing away the leaves on the sign aside. “A trail to the dark phase.”

Mila pulls a face. “What the fuck is that meant to mean?”

They all exchange blank expressions and Yuri shrugs.

He rolls on the back of his feet, shoving the keys into his pockets. The lake at the centre is, apparently, where they need to be. Yuri grins.

“Race you,” he says, eyeing Otabek down with a challenge. “Ready, set —“

And Yuri starts running. Sprinting even. He’s faster than the wind, he’s the sail that sends the boat through, and the accelerating engine. But a split second later, he sees a black mop of hair fly past him.

Once he reaches the bottom of the hill, Yuri slams his hands on his knees and groans loudly.

“You _cheated_ ,” Yuri says, shoving a digit into Otabek’s chest.

Otabek doesn’t say anything, except challenges Yuri with his gaze. His eyes flash dangerously. “Did I? I guess I was the one calling out when to go.”

“Uh —“ Yuri says, spluttering.

The atmosphere around them is heavy, like a drawn out pause or an audience waiting expectantly for the next act. The trees shudder as a breeze saunters through. Yuri pulls out his phone. It’s 10:50. One hour until the total solar eclipse.

“I guess we wait,” Yuri says.

Otabek takes a seat by a fallen log. “And so we wait.”  

* * *

 

**@yuri-plisetsky:** no no NO STOP WITH THAT GHASTLY PATTERN THAT'S NOT LEOPARD PRINT • 1 year 4 months  

Yuri barely remembers his dreams, but that morning, it comes in fragments. He clutches his heart and turns to face the empty bed. Part of him expected someone to be there, but he knows that it’s not true. It’s been too long since he’s found someone there.

The dream itself is odd. It catches at the fraying parts of his mind. It twists around him and bathes him in pale moonlight. In the darkness of the dream, he hears thunder rumble. A couple of notes fall from the sky, completely dry.

They say _I’ll see you soon_

* * *

 

They sit beside each other with baited breath. Their knuckles brush against each other’s and Yuri swears they’re breathing in unison.

“Have you written much? Since you left?” Yuri asks.

“Nothing beautiful,” Otabek responds. He’s staring out in to the sky, watching for any sudden change in light around them. In his other hand, he holds his book of creation, thumbing the frayed edges.

Yuri swings his legs back and forth.

Fuck, he has no idea what he wants to do right now. Part of him wants to wait for them to destroy the one thing that had given Otabek so much grief over the years. Part of him wants to keep it for his own selfish needs.

But that would be endangering his life.

“Beka,” Yuri says quietly. “What happens if this doesn’t work?”

Motionless, he says, “I don’t want to think about that.”

When the shadows begin to increase around them, Otabek slides off the log. He moves to the river’s edge, sliding his shoes off his feet. He rolls up his pants and when he’s finished, he dips his head at Yuri, throwing him a thumb up.

 Yuri watches, for the first time, boneless and silent. Anxiety consumes him. Unsure if this is just something stupid, or if this doesn’t mean anything. What if this had been an entire ruse? What if someone’s going to steal shit from his apartment now?

But it’s when smoke escapes from Otabek’s lips that Yuri knows that it’s all true.

Every bit of it.

His groans echo in the vast landscape. Water splashes, sending ripples towards the centre of the lake as Otabek falls, gasping. His fingers curl into the sand and he’s convulsing. His grunts and screams pull Yuri at the seams and at any moment, he’s going to burst.

“Beka?” Yuri says, his voice so very small. He slides off the log, quickly running towards him. He doesn’t even bother taking his shoes off as the water seeps into his feet.

“Stay back!” Otabek shouts, his eyes are red. His entire voice is shaking. “ _Please_.”

Barely noticing the cold, barely even acknowledging what he has just said, he runs his fingers through Otabek’s hair.

“Stay back,” Otabek sobs, slumping against Yuri.

“Beka, _beka_ ,” Yuri mutters again and again.

Otabek sighs in defeat. “ _Sweet_ moon, I never deserved you.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Yuri asks. He’s crying now as he watches the colour fade from Otabek’s cheeks, watch as his shoulders shake. Otabek leans into his touch, seeking warmth — or is it kindness.

“ _Zhanym,”_ Otabek says in response. His eyes soften and he repeats it with the same amount of sincerity as before. He holds his hands up to the last ray of light, his skin so very pale. Acceptance radiates from him and between the loud gasps, he closes his eyes.

 “What’s happening?” Yuri buries his face into Otabek’s chest. He hates how small he sounds. “Solnishko, what’s happening?”

Otabek sighs. “Bait out the moon. They want the _moon_ back.”

The shadows around them are growing.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” Mila shouts, her voice a semitone away from squealing.

Yuri looks over his shoulder. Mila’s about to run to them, but Sara holds her back. They’re both watching with fright, they’re both seeing the situation unfurl in front of them from different eyes.

Otabek coughs again and again into Yuri’s chest.

“Don’t let me become undone,” he whispers. His grip tightens around Yuri’s shirt and he’s sobbing harder now. He screams out, kicking at the water. Dark splodges pool on parts of his shirt, more black smoke drifts from his mouth like tendrils curling in the air. “ _Un — done.”_

_I wish I could give you the universe —_

_I would make you a billion flowers, just to show you what it’s like to be in a room full of you —_

_A breath that’s waiting to continue —_

The words resonate in his ears.

Everything Otabek’s ever been or ever was spins around him.

“Fuck,” Yuri says as he frantically tries to grab the smoke. Tries to shove them back into Otabek. “This is _you_ isn’t it? Your — soul — ?”

“I’m returning a borrowed power,” Otabek says. But it comes out as a whisper. He’s losing himself among the shadows of the sun.

“Don’t leave me.” Yuri grasps the side of his face. There’s a stinging sensation at the back of his eyes and he blinks furiously. “Please _don’t_ fucking leave me again. I don’t think I can handle it.”

“My _moon_ ,” Otabek says as he reaches out to Yuri with weak hands. “They’re just taking it from me. For I have never returned the favour.”

Yuri smashes his lips against Otabek’s. The man tries to kiss back, but he’s weak now. It feels like Yuri’s kissing a dying man. A man on the precipice of life, a man who is under the scrutiny of the gods.

Otabek’s eyes are still open when his body falls limp in his hands. Yuri presses his fingers against Otabek’s neck. There’s still a faint pulse, but the man is no longer talking. He’s no longer doing anything.

“Beka,” he says. Almost too afraid, toeing the edge of dread. “Be — ka?”

But when the realisation dawns upon him like a punch to the gut, Yuri lets out a long, animalistic scream.

* * *

 

“Yurochka,” Mila says, her hand brushing his shoulder delicately. “It’s getting late. We should go. We’ll take him to the hospital.”

Yuri barely budges. He sits with his legs drawn to his chest and his arms around them. He stares at the body in front of him. He glares at it. He knows that he’s still alive, he can see his eyes are still open and his chest is still moving. But he’s not responding to him.

Otabek is not responding to anyone.

“Why the fuck did we come all the way out here?” Yuri says. “Just to watch _this_ happen? He’s given up his power now. He gave it up a long time ago when he went back to those fucking people.”

“Yuri —“ Mila’s voice is soft, like she’s trying to coax a child.

“No, I’m not fucking leaving!” Yuri shouts at her. His eyes are puffy. His cheeks are lined with red splodges. “There has to be a _fucking_ reason he brought us here. He’s not the type to force us to watch _this_ happen.” Yuri gestures in a crescent, not able to say what had happened. Not able to say it.

(Because saying it would make it real)

(And he wants it to just be some _stupid_ story that Otabek’s made up)  

(It is some stupid story he’s made up)

(And it’ll end in _happily ever fucking after, Yuri promises himself)_

Mila and Sara’s hands are around his shoulders and they try to get him to stand. He kicks and he thrashes at them. He screams until his voice is hoarse. He spits at them. He scratches them. And yet they still hold onto him.

“Whatever that dark shit around him was,” Mila says. “It’s probably never coming back. It might be his life force? I don’t know.”

Yuri shrugs.

“We don’t know anything about him. And now he’s —“ Sara stops.

Yuri doesn’t want to hear anymore.

( _Beka —)_

“The — “ Yuri starts, lifting his head with excitement. “The _moon!_ ”

He gets on his feet and he runs to the body.

“You told me that I had to bait the moon,” Yuri says. He’s moving his hands excitedly. “I have no idea what the _fuck_ this means. But I’m going to do something with it.”

He rubs his hands together and begins shouting something. _Anything_ , dealing with the moon. He even sings a bit of that stupid song from that _stupid_ musical about cats. But nothing happens. Yuri leans his head on Otabek’s chest and sobs.

This is worse, he decides.

This is fucking _worse_ than him leaving him alive.

“Yura —“ Mila says slowly.

“Not now,” Yuri mutters.

“No Yura —“ Sara says. “You’re glowing.”

Yuri looks at his hands. “What the _fuck?”_

He angles them into the dying sunlight. They’re glowing a white among the green landscape. His body moves against his own volition and he places them on Otabek’s heart. It just seems like the right thing to do. He’s no doctor. His chest rises in pain and he lets out a tight scream.

It’s as if the breath is knocked from him. He collapses onto Otabek. Another kick and he groans loudly. Then suddenly, he stares at the smoke escaping his lips, the colour draining from his face.

Shit.

“No, no _!”_ Mila screams and she’s scrambling towards him. Sara’s there and they both grab hold of him, but there’s little they can do. He feels like they’re taking away his soul.

(They _are_ taking his soul)

Yuri’s breathing stills and he’s afraid. But he keeps his hands on Otabek, hoping that whatever the _fuck_ is happening is _meant_ to be happening.

(Shit)

(Shit)

(He doesn’t want to go too)

Another punch and he’s having trouble breathing. Tension snaps from him and he’s lying loosely on top of Otabek. He’s crying again. Even harder.

He looks up around him, the world still glowing. Words hiss loudly in his ear and he sees the black smoke trickle into Otabek’s open mouth. Gasping, he eyes him, wondering if that strange rise in his chest is _actually_ him breathing. Wondering if the twitch of his mouth is _actually_ him moving.

Then all of a sudden, the pain washes from him. His shoulders heave. Mila’s hands are around him. Sara’s hands are around Mila. It’s as if his chest has broken free of something heavy.

“Hey,” a familiar voice croaks.

Everyone yelps at the same time.

Yuri’s the first one to move. He squeezes Otabek. He kisses him with ferocity that he never knew he could muster. Desperation makes his movements sloppy, but he doesn’t fucking care.

“Can you all —“ Otabek says, wincing. (Wheezing) “Please get off me?”

“You _knew_ this was going to happen —“ Yuri splutters, jabbing a digit into his chest. But he peels off him as well. Mila and Sara are gasping in relief.

“This is the weirdest day I’ve ever fucking had,” Mila says.  

Otabek slowly sits upright and places a tender hand on Yuri’s chin, wiping the tears from his face. “I didn’t know. I promise you I didn’t know. I thought the gods were going to let me go.”

“Why did they take you?”

“Did they?” Otabek parries with a question.

In front of Yuri, he’s now sombre. He’s contemplative and tumultuous. But he’s alive.

And he’s here.

Yuri hugs him again. “Please don’t ever leave again.”

 

 

**Epilogue:**

 

Yuri’s head is on Otabek’s lap. Otabek poises a pencil above a leather-bound notebook, his expression carefully neutral.

“So those people aren’t going to come after you anymore?” Yuri asks. “The people who threw you into the river?”

Otabek shakes his head. His hair is a little longer now, but Yuri finds that he likes it. He likes the way it falls across his head and _especially_ when they wake up early in the morning, with his bedhead all flat and a confused expression gracing his face.

“They don’t want me now that I can’t create anything,” he says.

“Good,” Yuri says as he sits up.

He sidles towards Otabek and leans his head on his shoulder, trying to see what he’s writing.

Otabek knows this immediately and he slams the book closed.

“C’mon,” Yuri whines. “I want to know what you’ve written.”

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” Otabek says seriously.

“Cross my heart,” Yuri says.

His voice is dulcet against the backdrop of the night.

“ _I’ll trade every last hour of my life just to see you smile because sometimes, time can give you forever.”_

Yuri’s knees are week. He leans forward, their lips close. “Beka you sappy piece of fuck.”

With one hand out, he waits for Otabek to catch it, feeling the calloused knuckles against his palms.

Smiling to himself, he kisses him.

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** ·  2 m  
time can give you forever <3 #forevermine

 **❤**   4752 likes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! C: 
> 
> ~~it might possibly be rewritten in the future~~  
> 
> i'm now probably a little too busy to write anything as long as this, but if you want to provide me with cute things i could write or even just angsty situations, send me a message on [ tumblr](https://the-teacupshatters.tumblr.com) and i'll write some drabble c:


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